Page 138 of Twisted Truth

“The sister was adopted as a teenager.”

“And she’s studying for a postgraduate degree at Oxford?”

Matthew nods.

“Impressive.”

“Tomorrow is the gardens tours and flower festivals. Monday evening is the theater, Tuesday is some very touristy things like the changing of the guard and the Tower of London, Wednesday is a cricket match.”

I groan. There’s no more boring, ridiculous, pretentious, pointless sport than cricket.

“Polo on Thursday.”

That’s at least better.

“And then I got you tickets to a gala Thursday evening. The organizers were practically tripping over themselves when they realized you were going to be in town for it, so that should definitely get some press. I have a hair and makeup team scheduled each morning for Ella, and they will come again to touch her up for the evening events. The gala organizers put out in their email that you will be there, so I’m hoping that bit of informationwill trickle its way to the paparazzi. I don’t think they know Ella is here yet, which is why I arranged the family dinner for tonight, so that it can be private before the barrage of press.”

“Good. That all sounds perfect as usual, Matthew.”

My phone rings, and I look down at it. My heart stutters in my chest. I haven’t had a call from this number in over a year.

“Langford,” I say in answer.

“I hear you’re on my side of the pond,” Oliver says.

“I am. I’m here for another week.”

“What fortuitous timing. I just cracked open a lead. A real lead this time. It’s best if we meet in person.”

“I’m available Saturday morning. Our flight doesn’t leave until the afternoon.”

“Good. Same spot, ten a.m.”

“Done.”

Ella is practically bouncingin her seat on the way to dinner. “I haven’t seen Maya since last summer,” she says, watching out the window as we drive to the restaurant.

“How long has she been at Oxford?”

“She’s just about to finish up her third year. I can’t wait till she’s done next year and comes home. We’ll finally live together again if I can convince her to move back to New York.”

A sting of rejection burns inside me at the thought of Ella being so excited to live with someone else when right now she lives with me. Our living arrangement does have an end date; I have to remind myself of that. But for the first time since she moved in, I imagine the penthouse as it was before—quiet, empty—and it twists my gut. Ella’s only lived with me a short while, but I’ve already grown used to sharing meals with her, driving to and from work with her, and my penthouse is just more vibrant and full of life with her around. I’ve missed thatwhile I’ve been here in London, and I don’t know if I want to go back to the quiet of before.

I would know acutely, intimately, what I was missing.

I rub my hand along my jaw. This is not what I should be thinking about or feeling.Fuck.

“You okay?” Ella asks, setting her hand on my knee. She gives it a light squeeze. The warmth of her small hand is comforting, as is the lilt of her voice and the concern in her eyes.

I nod. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I’m okay. And I don’t know what to fucking do with that.

Ella narrows her eyes slightly. She unbuckles her seatbelt and slides closer to me.

“What are you doing? Put your seatbelt back on,” I bite out, half in a panic. One thing I cannot abide is riding in a car without being buckled in. A seatbelt literally saved my life as a child. I wasn’t supposed to survive the crash. And yet, somehow, by being buckled in and by some grace of the universe, I did.

Ella rolls her eyes and buckles the middle seatbelt around her. “All buckled, Asher,” she says. She leans into me and grabs my hand in hers. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I deflate a little. God, what this woman can do to me. “I just have a lot on my mind.”